Harry Potter and the Newest Girl
by peebs
Summary: Harry undergoes significant changes and learns a shocking secret from Dumbledore. How will his sixth year go now? It's my first fanfiction.net story, so please R&R!
1. The Change

Harry Potter and the Newest Girl

Disclaimer: Harry and most of the other characters are the creations of JK Rowling. Harrietta, Salessandra and D'Arcy are mine.

Harry had first begun to feel funny on the journey on the Hogwarts Express. At first he'd written it off to queasiness; after that showdown with the Death Eaters and his terrible summer, he was emotionally exhausted. Add to that the pressures of sixth year, and, well, poor Harry was nearing the end of his tether. _I wish I could sit with Ron and Hermione in the prefects' car,_ he thought to himself, _I can't wait to hear all about Hermione's summer term at the Boston Academy for Witches. I wonder if she's picked up any strange American spells..._ Though Ginny, Neville, and the others tried to engage him in chit-chat, Harry simply wasn't interested. He was past anger and fully into depression and moodiness. When they arrived at Hogwarts, even a cheerful greeting from Hagrid, a great new sorting-song, and a tremendous feast did nothing to change his mood. And Hermione's stories weren't all that great, either. Just rubbish about the girls giving each other makeovers and watching baseball, the thorough muggality of which fascinated Ron. Harry was mostly silent, and no one seemed to notice or care.

Late that first night Harry was awakened by chest pains and a tingling sensation in his lower abdomen. He tried until three am to get back to sleep, but the pain only increased. A tortured cry escaped his lips against his wishes.

"Harry!" He'd awakened Ron and Seamus. Their faces registered shock and fear. Harry's was contorted in a grimace of pain. His scar was visibly burning a bright red.

"D'you think it's...you-know-who?" whispered Seamus.

"I dunno..." said Ron, "But we'd better get him to the infirmary!"

Ron and Seamus had half dragged, half carried Harry there. Madam Pomfrey had kept on a brave face in front of the boys, but the second they were gone she'd sent for the Headmaster. It was at Grimmauld Place that Harry awoke, and Dumbledore and Lupin were the only other people there.

As soon as the shaggy black head lifted woozily from the pillow, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Good morning."

Harry tried to reply, but found that he couldn't make any noise. Lupin smiled at him fondly. "You've had a rough ordeal, much harder than anything I've ever been through. Here, take some of this..." Lupin passed him a bit of chocolate. To Harry's horror, the hand he extended to accept it was delicate...womanly, even. Then he realized that he could see perfectly, though he hadn't put on his glasses. He gasped.

"That's right." said Dumbledore. "You've been through an extraordinary change, a very rare one indeed! You see, Harry, when under a great deal of stress, or a threat of extreme danger, some wizards' bodies will adapt, to provide them with security or a new beginning..."

_But...a sex change!? _thought Harry, confused and angry, who still couldn't speak. _What will happen to me now? Will I still like women, or...or...will I never feel **that** way for Cho or Hermione or Ginny or that pretty Muggle Peggy I met over the summer ever again?_

"Only a very powerful wizard has such physiological capabilities, however." added Lupin, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of pride and sadness. "Until today, I'd written off the possibility-- old wives' tales, I thought-- it's not documented anywhere I've looked. You are special indeed Har--" Lupin broke off for a moment, unsure of what to call this new person.

"I think 'Harry' will do for now, Remus. Would you mind perhaps excusing us? It is time I told this young lady some more about her background."

"Of course, Professor. Enjoy the chocolate, Harry." Remus left and closed the door behind him. A moment later Dumbledore muttered a few words in his direction, modifying his memory to exclude this episode. It would now just seem a strange dream, though Remus might smart at the coincidence of having it the night of Harry's death from a strange illness.

Dumbledore cleared his throat once more. "What I am about to tell you," he started, "Is strictly confidential. You must not divulge this information to another living soul..." Harry nodded. "Well, then...You, Harry Potter, are the first wizard since the time of Salazar Slytherin to exhibit such powers. This is not a well-known fact, but Salazar began and ended life as Salessandra. A very misunderstood character, though very powerful and, at heart, good." Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles and wiped away a tear. "The only reason I know this is that I am really Godric Gryffindor; born and reborn again, popping up in this place at this time, and that during other eras; like my pet Fawkes, never dying. You, Harry, are the descendant of my only child, Godfroid." Here a tear trickled down his wrinkled cheek. "It was Salessandra's fate to die in childbirth...embrace me, and know that you are the heir of Syltherin and Gryffindor both, and please look up to me as father!"

Harry's eyes were wide with surprise, but he could not have been happier to hug the old man. A new beginning! A life as a girl; a father figure to replace the ones he'd lost, one who would never be defeated, one who would never fall behind the veil of death. They could be separated only by geography and by Harry's death. The old man would be left lonely, but never Harry. It was a comforting, although selfish, thought to the young person whose life had lately become so topsy-turvy.

Dumbledore continued at last. "Oh, Harry, I thought it might be you but I couldn't be sure; I knew there was one last person on this Earth carrying my DNA, as Muggles call it, but I couldn't find out for sure who it was. I couldn't bear to have yours tested, in case I was wrong-- oh, the disappointment! But now I know! Oh, if Salessandra knew, she'd be so happy. My poor, misunderstood darling...oh, but enough of that. Who wants to hear an old man blubber so, for his long-lost love! My dear child, this is another layer to your protection from Lord Voldemort. Your scar is gone; Harry Potter has vanished, is done. You will go as Harrietta to the Leaky Cauldron and after a few weeks, if you wish, you can return to Hogwarts. Although I think very highly of Beauxbatons and of the Boston Academy for Witches both, and you would have the option of starting over there anew...yes, perhaps...it would cause less confusion for you..."

"No," said Harry. He was surprised to recover his voice, and to hear how it had changed. It was higher than before, more melodious. On the whole he liked it better. "I-- I'd like to go back to Hogwarts. There is such a thing as too much change, you know."

Dumbledore smiled sadly, remembering the death of his love; the incalculable sadness of that change had been too much to bear; as Godric Gryffindor he'd ceased. Eventually he'd returned to write the official history of Hogwarts, misdirecting future generations: another change, the erasure of their love from history. At times he regretted it. What would his only lover, Salessandra, and his long-dead son Godfroid-- lonely sparks within the lengthy darkness of his life-- have thought? But he had felt it had to be. After a long pause he replied to the pretty young girl he thought of as granddaughter. "Yes, of course, you're right Har-- would you mind if I called you Harrietta?"

The young lady was radiant as she replied, "No, not at all."

"I shall have to be off, to make arrangements for your arrival at Hogwarts. You must feign surprise about everyone you meet, and all the things you do; indeed, the way people react to you, and the way you react to people and things, will now be different." He thought of how the wizarding world had reacted to the sight of Gryffindor and Slytherin--Salessandra now, rather than Salazar-- together. It had been a very different outlook for both of them, but for Salessandra especially. He'd never entirely understood it; he certainly wasn't sure how to explain it. But by now he'd said his goodbyes, distracted as he was, and made his way to the fireplace. A last glance, a handful of powder, and he was gone. He was more full of emotion than he had been in years, and under the watchful eyes of the portraits he couldn't indulge in a good cry. It would have to wait. Besides, Harrietta's transition was most important now. He would have to send a notice to the Dursleys: Harry's death. He doubted they'd be at all upset. The Weasleys would be a different matter... he'd have to modify the memories of some of the staff at St. Mungo's to make the story work. And he'd have to prepare the professors, Minerva especially. He hadn't felt so alive in years.


	2. Minerva's Dismay

A/N: D'Arcy and Salessandra are mine; pretty much everything else is JK Rowling's!

Harrietta could not have known, during those two weeks at the Leaky Cauldron learning about bras and other womanly things, that Hogwarts had recently welcomed her perfect match. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with wavy brown hair that fell to his shoulders and a big nose that showed signs of having been broken. He was D'arcy MacBeaver-Lafleur, and he'd been invited to Hogwarts; specifically, to Gryffindor House. He would be coming all the way from Canada. Minerva McGonagall had been furious when it was announced in the faculty meeting.

They'd had a heated argument in the halls about it when the other professors had gone-- it set all the portraits, ghosts, and students talking. "He was the brightest boy I'd ever taught! Such potential! Such a knack for causing trouble, and yet for solving problems too!" Tears were forming in McGonagall's eyes.

"Minerva," Dumbledore had said sternly, "Perhaps we should carry on with our discussion in my office."

As McGonagall swept past him in a huff, he thought _I wish I could tell her the truth! Harry's gone, but he'll be back...No, no, I mustn't! I can't! Harry must be protected, and this is the only way...besides, Minerva's connection to the Death Eater incident...I must hold fast to my convictions!_ Before he knew it, they were walking up the stairs.

"This _replacement_," continued McGonagall angrily, "this...this..._git_ will never-- OH! I am so very upset with this; it goes against my better judgement -- and think of the treatment he'll get from the other students! He won't be welcome at all, except in _Slytherin_!" There was a very unpleasant edge in the last word. It cut Albus like a razor.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed, but only briefly. He longed to set her straight. _Now see here! My beauteous Salessandra did not revel in deception and trickery the way present-day Slytherins do! _But he knew that he'd had a hand in her misinformation. In an instant, he was a defeated old man, overcome by guilt once more. _Oh, if only I could go back in time and rewrite history once more. Of course, I do not have the power of time travel-- ohh my lover Salessandra, if only I did! How my heart aches for you! _

Pulling himself together after such a thought-filled pause he spoke again. "Hmm. I see your point, Minerva-- I suppose I _could_ put D'arcy in Slytherin and simply transfer Malfoy into Gryffindor..."

"This is no time for sarcasm, Albus!"

"Minerva, I encourage you to welcome him as you would any other student. This measure was, after all, suggested by the Sorting Hat. Never before has the Sorting Hat sorted a student who wasn't even present, who was on another continent entirely."

McGonagall looked thoughtful. He was right; after Harry's death, Dumbledore had called a faculty meeting. The professors had been all out of sorts-- even Snape-- and Dumbledore himself had cried a good deal. When he produced the Sorting Hat and it began its song, the suggestion had been this student. At first she refused to accept it. Perhaps the Sorting Hat had finally gone senile! But a stern glance from Albus and that thought had gone away. And she'd contacted the Regina Institute for Wizarding, and they'd confirmed that D'arcy was a student. _And besides_, thought McGonagall, _he called you 'Minerva'! A rare occurrence, and one that you live for! Oh, could Albus finally be noticing me!? Oh, how foolish of me. Why am I so drawn to that obtuse, silly man? I always swore I'd never love a man I worked for! And nerdy, geeky, Albus Dumbledore, brother of a goat-charmer, at that! Half-moon spectacles and five-foot beard indeed! But if anything good could come of this tragic, tragic time..._

"Minerva?" said Dumbledore sternly, "Have you come to a decision?"

She snapped out of her state of distraction and recalled the issue at hand. The new student. The Sorting Hat. Her decision. "Oh, mm, yes. The Sorting Hat has been here since the school's inception; it surely knows what's best." She sighed resignedly. "It won't be easy, Albus, but I'm willing to give this a whirl."

He smiled at her. Not a smile that hinted at anything more than simple appreciation, mind you; only Salessandra, Godfroid and Harry had ever seen his smile of affection. But to Minerva it meant the world. She barely heard him say "I'm pleased to hear that." Her insides were melting into a sweet, syrupy goo; she longed to stroke his ridiculous, silvery, beautiful beard. To seize him and kiss him while she had the opportunity. _Oh Albus!_ Was she really so lonely as to fall for him?_ Your twinkling eyes._ What of her poor deceased family? _Come to me, you fool! _The memory of her poor husband. _Oh Albus! _Why did he have that effect on her? Why could she never stand her ground for long against him?

D'arcy had arrived later that day, just three days after Harry's departure.


	3. D'Arcy's first days

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hogwarts, etc are JK Rowling's. Salessandra and D'Arcy are mine.

D'Arcy MacBeaver-Lafleur had never been so nervous. Quidditch tryouts! They were looking for a Seeker...D'Arcy was an excellent athlete, but his sport was Wizarding Lacrosse, not Quidditch. What if he didn't make it? The first few weeks had been hard. A different country, a different culture;everyone had resented him for replacing Harry, too. When his arrival was announced at the Great Hall, there was actually a low booing sound from the Gryffindor table. McGonagall took 50 points from her own house; that only made it worse for D'Arcy.

After a few days, however, people had begun to warm up to him-- girls especially. Something about the crooked, "look-at-me, I'm often broken!" nose, the warm smile, the friendly demeanor...yes, girls liked D'Arcy quite a bit. And as he'd spent his early years in Quebec, before his mother's death, he spoke French fluently. That didn't hurt a bit either, when it came to impressing girls. _If only I could like them back_, thought D'Arcy, alone in his canopied bed at night, listening to the soft sounds of Ron Weasley's breathing. Sometimes Ron would have nightmares--horrible ones. As he shrieked and thrashed, D'Arcy would stroke his hand softly: "There, there, Weasley. There, there." He knew he could never tell Ron how he felt, never brush his lips across those pale, freckled hands, and it kept him awake at night, and distracted at Quidditch tryouts.

PHWEET!! _Oh my god--the whistle! _ D'Arcy kicked up on his broom...but the others had all just landed.

"Hang on!" Ron's voice. "What are you, jetlagged? Why didn'tcha take off with everyone else?"

"Erm..." he blushed a little. "I-- em, I'm not used to whistles."

"Not used to whistles!?"

"No. Canadian wizards don't use them." A blatant lie. What was he doing?

Ron sighed. "Okay then, I'll say 'go' and you take off. We're looking to see how fast you are, what moves you have..."

"But it's not fair, he's going alone, not with the rest of--" Ginny had resisted every part of the tryout process, not wanting to give up her position as Seeker.

"GINNY! AURGH!" hollered Ron. She went quiet. "Now, D'Arcy, go!"

D'Arcy flew as he had never flown before; he was showing off for Ron and he knew it. Everyone on the ground was flabbergasted by his speed and stuntwork; it was clear that, although he'd had a separate tryout, he'd bested everyone else. Clear to everyone but himself, that is.

"How'd I do?" he asked the captains, with their clipboards in hand, when he'd landed once more.

Ron looked at the other two. They seemed impressed. But over on the sidelines, the scowls of Ginny and the other candidates were plainly visible. He'd have to temper his response...choose his words carefully...

"You were bloody brilliant, D'Arcy, really really excellent! I think it goes without saying you're the man for the job!" he clapped his hand on D'Arcy's back.

_Oh! Ron Weasley,_ thought D'Arcy, _I'm never washing my back again._ His outward appearance betrayed no such thought; a friendly handshake and a "Thanks, mate!" and the interaction was over.

It was Ron who held D'Arcy's attention; Ron only-- at least until Harrietta arrived.


	4. D'Arcy's Dream

A/N: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, the Weasleys etc are JK Rowling's creations. D'Arcy and Salessandra are my characters.

D'Arcy's Dream

Strangely enough, it was the night before Harrietta's arrival that D'Arcy had his first real dream of Ron. In the dream, he had just showered and dressed after a Quidditch match. Ron waited for him outside the door of the dressing room.

"D'Arcy!" called Ron, as the tall Canadian wizard made his way down the hall.

"Em...hey, Weasley. Sorry it took me so long to catch the Snitch out there. Nasty weather and all..."

"Oh, I'm not mad...I wanted to congratulate you and--" his voice creaked on the last word, "--em, I was wondering if you had plans for tonight."

D'Arcy raised an eyebrow mischieviously, "Plans, Weasley?"

"Em-- ne-- nevermind..." Ron turned quickly and began to run down the hall, but D'Arcy ran after him, grabbed his shoulder, turned him around and kissed him, long and slow.

"Oh, D'Arcy!" gasped Ron, smooching him back with all the passion he could muster.

That's when D'Arcy awoke, sweaty and unfulfilled, from the best dream he'd ever dreamt.


	5. Harrietta Arrives

Harrietta Arrives

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hogwarts, and all characters (Harrietta, Salessandra, and D'Arcy excepted) in this story were created by JK Rowling. This is just my take on her world.

Her luscious, curly black hair fell in thick waves, landing right below her shoulders. It bounced softly as she walked, her head downcast, toward the entrance. _What if it doesn't work?_ she thought, trying and failing to conceal her anxious blush. Her arms swung slowly, fluidly at her sides, and her beautiful robes rustled loudly enough that everyone turned to look at her. Harrietta had arrived in the Great Hall, and half the students were openmouthed in shock at her beauty. _She looks remarkably like my dear Salessandra,_thought Dumbledore, holding back a tear, _How proud my love would be to look upon our only surviving descendant!_ He cleared his throat.

"As you are all no doubt aware," he started, "the parents of young Mr Crabbe felt that their son was not well-suited to Hogwarts, and have decided to place him in a different school, on the continent."

All through the summer, signs that Voldemort might not win the war had troubled the Crabbes. Once Neville's smiling, round face appeared on the front page of _The Daily Prophet_- he had finally tracked down and captured Bellatrix, and she was now heavily sedated and in custody- the Crabbes had decided a change for their son was in order.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dumbledore could see Malfoy mutter something sneeringly to his neighbour. Pausing long enough to read his lips- _Mother and father will have me at Durmstrang, too, in no time_- Dumbledore then continued.

"I am happy to welcome Ms Harrietta Deadbblour-Emuls to Hogwarts. She has been sorted into Slytherin House."

There was a low hiss from the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables, but it died out after only a few seconds. She was so graceful and pretty, and she seemed so shy. Every boy wanted to be with her, and the girls looked on with a mixture of jealousy and admiration. Draco Malfoy could mutter only a few short words of approval- _The Deadbblour-Emuls family is one of the most prestigious in the Wizarding World, they even have a chateau in France_- before he lost his composure. Her beauty was harder to take as she got closer to the table, and the scent of her perfume drove him wild. He noticed that she smiled slightly at him as she took her seat. _If only I knew what she was thinking.._.

_If I've got Malfoy fooled_, thought Harrietta, _then maybe this protection thing really **will** work out!_

Harrietta's performance that night at dinner was perfect. She acted properly horrified at the Bloody Baron's appearance, and was perfectly disdainful of Peeves. In a female body she found new confidence; perhaps it was the knowledge of her ancestry- descended from Slytherin and Gryffindor both, imagine- or her refined beauty and the lack of a burning scar, but whatever it was, now it was easy to speak. She was no longer a moody, surly boy, but a graceful young lady. Harrietta was still shy, but somehow it was easier to get along than it had been before. As she laughed liltingly at one of Blaise Zabini's jokes, Harrietta saw with horror that Ron Weasley and a new boy from Gryffindor- a _handsome_ new boy from Gryffindor- were staring at her lustily. She reddened and gasped audibly; in an instant Malfoy's hand was on her shoulder.

"Don't worry, Harrietta," he said reassuringly, "I wouldn't dream of letting Weaselby bother you."

Pansy Parkinson sniffed jealously. "I don't see why she can't take care of herself..."

"I'm just trying to be friendly," snapped Draco, then smoothly continued, "and show our new classmate the ropes."

"Which one is, erm, 'Weaselbee'?" asked Harrietta, uncomfortably. She addressed her inquiry to Pansy- a way of making her feel included and useful- but took Draco's hand in hers flirtatiously.

Pansy smiled viciously. "The ugly redhead. Has about 75 mangy brothers and sisters, too. They live in a hovel called 'The Barrow,' if you can believe it!"

"Merlin's Beard!" exclaimed Harrietta, wide-eyed, looking from Pansy to Draco, "I don't know _how_ anyone could live in a house named after a _farm implement_!" The Slytherin table erupted in giggles around her. It gave Harrietta a pang to speak that way of the Weasleys, but she had to be convincing. _And anyway_, she thought, _what business has Ron staring-no, positively **leering** at me that way, when poor 'Mione's been after him for years?_ Harrietta caught a glimpse of Ron's downcast face as she, Draco, and Pansy- but especially she and Draco- chatted animatedly throughout their dinner. She smiled at no one in particular. _Serves him right!_

Pansy showed Harrietta to their dormitory. Although she was a bit jealous and bitter, she had warmed up considerably since Harrietta had asked for the dirt on their professors.

"McGonagall's a positive _troll_, Hagrid can barely string two words together...Flitwick's okay, I guess, but Snape's really the only one worth listening to."

"I was thinking of taking Trelawney's class; she's descended from the woman who used to see for my great-grandmother."

"Trelawney's rubbish," said Pansy flatly, before turning, confused, to regard Harrietta. "Your great-grandmother had a _seer_?"

Harrietta had to think quickly. Rolling her eyes, she said, "Yes, on my mother's side...they're kind of soft, you know. I have an aunt who married a Muggle, if you can imagine."

Pansy's eyes widened. "NO!"

"Please don't tell anyone...she's disowned, but still..."

"Well, there's a bad apple in every bunch, I guess."

_You would know,_ thought Harrietta, before remembering what Dumbledore had said to her in one of his visits to the Leaky Cauldron; he was counting on her to improve inter-House unity.

"Too true."

"Harrietta?" asked Pansy, for the first time dropping all artifice and sounding genuinely like an interested teen, "Is it true your family has a chateau in France?"

Harrietta blushed slightly. _Deadbblour-Emuls_ was an anagram for _Albus Dumbledore_, and the chateau was his. He almost never spent time there; it was a useful place to hide wizards in danger, and they were always sure to talk up the family that didn't exist, in order to keep up appearances. Aberforth spent a great deal of time there, and was sure to encourage gossip about the nonexistent family in the Hog's Head whenever he could: _D'ya hear about them Deadbblour-Emuls? Got in a heap of trouble with that Muggle Botox foolishness. Can you imagine the stupidity? I guess money don't buy brains!_ Items like that had been appearing regularly in _Witch Weekly_ for the past 45 years. Dumbledore had Portkeyed over to the Chateau with Harrietta the evening of the previous Thursday, in order to give her a feel for the wealth she supposedly possessed and to make her residence there seem more plausible.

"Yes," said Harrietta, "We don't use it much, but I was there only last week- would you like to see some pictures?"


	6. Confusion

D'Arcy's Confusion

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hogwarts, etc are JK Rowling's. Salessandra and D'Arcy are mine.

The night that Harrietta arrived changed D'Arcy MacBeaver-LaFleur's life forever. He lay awake wondering what was happening- why had he felt a tingling inside him, felt a sharp intake of breath the moment he saw her? If there was one thing he'd always known, it was that he wasn't like other boys. He didn't lust after beautiful women; D'Arcy was attracted to males, just like him, and always had been. Hadn't he?

It was three o'clock in the morning when he finally lapsed into uneasy sleep, but that was short-lived. Her sparkling eyes had haunted him throughout it. He had had the strangest dream; he was at a Tim Horton's, and Harrietta was behind the counter. He'd asked for a honey-dipped donut, and when she placed it down in front of him and gave him the total, he'd shouted, "No! Take it all," thrown a bag of galleons at her, and placed the donut on her left ring finger, as though in a wedding ceremony. With tears in her eyes, Harrietta pulled him over the counter and kissed him passionately. When they separated, after what seemed like a month, she was wearing a white veil, and they were standing in a church. That was when he'd awakened with a start.

D'Arcy got up and put on his robe. Arriving in the common room, he saw that Hermione was the only other person there. Her brow was furrowed; she looked angry as she wrote notes in the margin of a large, cumbersome-looking book.

"Couldn't sleep, could you?" she asked accusingly, "Dreaming of Harrietta, I suppose?"

"What? No." he lied.

It must have been convincing. "Oh, D'Arcy, I'm sorry...you're such a good bloke...I shouldn't snap at you, of all people."

D'Arcy smiled. "That's all right. You've had a long year, and it's barely started."

She sighed. "Yes, not even Halloween, and Harry's dead, you're here, and now we've another new student." She put down her quill thoughtfully, her eyes filling with tears. "It wouldn't bother me so much if her name weren't so close to his...'Harrietta,'- why would Dumbledore allow it, so soon after Harry's death? And Ron didn't even notice. His best friend dead and all he can do is gape at the new girl..."

"Oh, Hermione!" said D'Arcy softly, "You really shouldn't- Hermione," he reached over and held her hand as she sobbed, bending low to make eye contact, "Hermione we're all so stupid. Boys, I mean."

Hermione just cried harder.

"Ron will come around, don't worry..."

Hermione gasped. "Oh no! Is it that obvious?"

_Yes,_ thought D'Arcy, _unfortunately, it's clear that he'll never return my affections..._

He had sense enough to simply say, "He only has eyes for you, Hermione. I'm sure you'll end up together..."

Hermione was melting inside just a little. Here was someone holding her hand as she sobbed- someone observant enough to know that she loved Ron- someone big and strong and handsome, with a wonderful Canadian accent, and who perhaps was as much of an insomniac as was she. Maybe her affections had been misplaced all this time, and how wonderful would it be if something good came out of Harry's demise? Something like _love_?

"Oh D'Arcy," she said, wiping away the last of her tears, "I'm not sure if that's what I want, anymore..."

Before D'Arcy knew it, they were kissing loudly. It wasn't at all like he'd imagined kissing would be...he had a hard time figuring out where to put his nose, and he didn't enjoy it as much as he'd hoped. It was pleasant enough, though. Hermione smelled okay, and she was certainly enthusiastic. He hoped she couldn't sense his desperation. They made out for at least forty minutes, until the first rays of the sun penetrated the window, and they heard Dobby the house-elf's footsteps.

"Oh," said Hermione, pulling away, "I-we-I've still got loads of Arithmancy to do..."

D'Arcy blushed and straightened up. "Yeah, em, we should really go..."

Hermione gave him a quick peck on the cheek and hurried up the stairs. D'Arcy glanced in her direction a bit longer, then sighed, turned, and went back to bed. Hogwarts was wonderful, but part of him longed to be back in the prairies of Saskatchewan. Before he'd left there, at least he had known who he was.


End file.
